A Sorta Fairytale
by skybound2
Summary: A set of five small ficlets taking a look at five moments in Spike and Buffy's mutual past. Written for the btvshalloween community for reetinkerbell.


**Title: **A Sorta Fairytale

**Rating: **PG-13

**Pairing: **Spike/Buffy

**Spoilers:** Everything through episode 7x22 of BTVS, _Chosen_

**Summary: **A set of five small ficlets taking a look at five moments in Spike and Buffy's mutual past. Slightly inspired by two _The Princess Bride_ quotes and the title is taken from the _Tori__ Amos_ song of the same name.

**Timeline: **The first part is post-Something Blue, the second is just after Fool for Love, the third is post-Intervention, the forth is after Tabula Rasa, and the last is set during the last night on Chosen.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it. Never will. Don't sue.

**Author's Note: **Written for **reetinkerbell**, who wanted Spuffy, for the BTVS Halloween-a-thon.

* * *

"They're kissing again. Do we have to read the kissing parts?"

Grandson, from _The__ Princess Bride_

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**A Sorta Fairytale**

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**The Taste of Buffy**

It had only lasted for a few short, agonizing seconds after Willow's spell had been lifted, but the fact of the matter was, for even that short period of time, he'd been kissing the Slayer.

_Him!_ William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, had been lying on the floor with 105 pounds of Slayer on top of him, kissing him as if he were the very air she breathed.

And for just the tiniest, infinitesimal moment, he'd enjoyed it.

Her lips, _Buffy's_ lips, were so soft and pliable against his own. The small sighs falling from her every time they made contact, had made his undead heart ache. Of course, he told himself that that was just the spell.

Only, the spell had ended over twelve hours ago, and yet he could still taste the odd tangy mixture of Diet Coke and raspberry lip gloss on his tongue; could still feel the unbearable warmth of her against his flesh.

His emotions were running the gamut: from anger and disgust to longing and want; utter devotion and need to desperate confusion. Only one thing was certain. The thought, the _taste_ of Buffy, had left a bitter and burning sensation deep within him.

And now all he could taste, was ashes.

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**The Memory of Spike**

What the hell was going on! He'd, he'd actually _tried_ to kiss her! Spike! William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, the proverbial thorn in her side; had actually tried to _kiss_ her!

And for just _one _moment (which she wouldn't ever dare admit to anyone, not under threat of no more shoe shopping ever again) she had wanted him to.

If she closed her eyes, she could still see the moment; still see the hunger that laid within him as he had leaned towards her. His lips (which had absolutely _no right_ looking as sweet as she remembered them tasting!) had parted just a little, and a jolt of…something, had shot straight through to her core. She hadn't known what to think, what to do, so she'd merely reacted on instinct, and did what she did best.

But now, _now_, surrounded by the cold comfort of the tiled walls in her bathroom, she could admit to herself that a part of her had longed for it. Longed for the sweet oblivion she remembered existed between his lips. As her grip on the porcelain sink before her tightened to the point that the material threatened to crack, she could feel his hands on her hips. Holding her, possessing her; in away that no one had before – or since. Not even Angel, she'd realized after the spell, had held her with such ferocity. He'd always treated her like something precious and fragile, like a porcelain china doll meant to be kept on the shelf and admired, but never taken down.

Not Spike though.

No. Not when they'd been under that horrible, brain-numbing spell Willow had cast. Not when she'd been his fiancée and he'd been her world.

The absence of him afterwards had left a gaping wound inside her she doubted could ever be filled. After all, no one could ever love as truly and deeply as they had that night. It just wasn't possible…was it?

She swore that it was merely the memory of those moments that had caused him to attempt such a thing in the alley like he had. Only the memory of him that caused her to ache in a way that wasn't natural; wasn't right.

She'd scrub her skin until it'd bleed if it would wash this feeling away from her. She'd doubted it would work, but it was at least worth a try.

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**Blood and Plastic**

Spike had no idea how he'd missed it when she'd first entered his crypt. He suspected it had something to do with having 75 percent of his bones broken, and a highly uncomfortable finger-shaped hole in his chest which had thrown him slightly off his game.

That was why when she came to him, dressed in the Bot's clothes, he had just assumed it was the Bot. On a better day, he could never have mistaken her sweet smell, the lolling sound of her heart thumping away in her chest, for something artificial.

Luckily for him, it hadn't been a better day.

But there was no way she could possibly have thought he'd mistake the touch of her lips, warmed with her blood, for plastic. She knew that the moment her lips brushed his that he would realize he'd been played. That he could never forget the taste of her, the _feel _of her mouth brushing up against his just so; just as he suspected she would never forget him.

So what was it then? Gratitude? Of that he was certain. But, the spark that had ignited deep within him led him to believe, to _hope_ that it was something more. It had to be. He _needed_ it to be. Because…because then, then the pain and the desperate longing inside of him would be worth it. Then he could let his body heal, just so he could see her look at him with compassion and respect once more. Otherwise he might as well lie down and let the crypt become his tomb.

No. No she had meant it as something more. He had seen it in her eyes as she had pulled away from him. She was offering something to him. It might not be love. It might not even be friendship.

But it was a crumb nonetheless.

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**Joan and Randy**

Giles was gone; halfway across North America somewhere. He'd left her, left her like all the others. Like everyone always did.

Everyone except _him_ of course. Because there he was again, looking at her with such sympathy and love that she couldn't bear it. Couldn't stand the 1000 watts of heat and electricity that zinged between them whenever their eyes met. Couldn't understand why the only thing certain and stable in her life anymore was his love for her.

So she had turned away.

Then he did the unexpected. He'd left

She'd been gripped with a sense of dread that she hadn't felt since that moment of realization had arrived six feet below ground, and she'd actually had to dig her way out of that box.

So, really it was no surprise that her feet had picked her up and launched her in the direction he'd gone.

And really it was no surprise how when she'd found him, she'd clung to him as if her life depended on it.

After all, in a way, it had.

So when he'd looked at her, really _looked_ at her, she knew that her need was written very plainly on her face. Yet, she felt no shame in it, no shame that she went to a soulless killer for comfort when her friends and family could not be trusted to protect her.

The kiss had rocked her to her bones. There was a chill that had swept through her body and she thought she knew what it would be like to drown. A sweetness and warmth had spread through her limbs as the velvet of his tongue had curled around hers. Melting away all the indecision; all thought of anything else but that moment. There beneath those darkened stairs, they were nothing more then the two of them, just some lovesick kids devouring each other in the corner. No thought to proper places or times.

Just Randy and Joan.

But it couldn't last, nothing lasted anymore. Eventually she came back to herself, and she realized that what had been the sweet cavern of Spike's mouth, in reality tasted of blood and whiskey. His lips reminded her of the grave.

She'd pulled away with a gasp then. Her hand had covered her mouth involuntarily as she'd met his wounded gaze, and was nearly undone by the blue ocean of his eyes.

_Drowning._

She hadn't been able to run away fast enough.

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The loss of her warm body pressed to his, the sudden removal of her small hands from his hair jolted Spike like nothing he had ever known.

He'd _had_ her. She'd been in his arms; lips pressed to his, their tongues fought for dominance in a passion fueled frenzy. She'd needed him, wanted him. It had been all he had dreamed of for years.

He should have known better. He'd been taught long ago that dreams were merely nightmares in disguise.

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**A Time of Firsts**

Spike watched her as she descended the stairs, all beauty and, well, not exactly _grace. _He may love the chit, but that didn't mean he couldn't see faults where they existed.

He just loved her more for them.

Calmness overtook him as their eyes locked. He wondered, and not for the first time, what he meant to her. He knew that he was her best solider, he might even be willing to go so far as saying he was her best friend. But, when she looked at him like she was now, a feeling of peace emanating from her, he thought maybe she really did love him.

She had called him her champion, but the truth was she was the one that had ended up saving him.

They closed the gap between them instinctively, and when they stood no more then a foot apart, Buffy reached out and linked her left hand with his right. That simple action brought a smile to Spike's lips that brightened Buffy's entire world.

"Well, would you look at that? Hmm." Spike watched their hands mold together, looking as if they were the most interesting thing in the world to him, while his thumb absently stroked the back of her hand. Buffy couldn't help but tease him a bit.

"Those are commonly called hands, Spike. Generally speaking they are found at the end of the arms."

He cocked an eyebrow at her then, "Generally speaking, or speaking as a General?"

"Oh, I'm sure a General Speech could be arranged if you feel as if you haven't gotten enough of them recently."

"You know, I never thought I'd say this love, but there are some aspects of you I actually _can_ get enough of, one of them being your penitent for overblown speeches that last just a tad longer then the average Oscar acceptance."

"Har bloody har, Spike."

"Gotta admit pet, you did kind of open yourself up for that one."

Spike watched in rapt fascination as her lip jutted out in the pout that always seemed to be his undoing. He suppressed a groan as her tongue darted out to moisten said lip.

"Maybe."

The movement of her mouth as she spoke broke Spike from his intense perusal of her lower lip. _What were we talking about?_ _Oh, yeah. Bloody pirates. _"And besides, I thought Xander was our resident in-house pirate."

Buffy seemed to perk up at that. "We could make a sitcom. 'The witch, the vampire, and the pirate.' Tuesdays at 8. It'd probably win an Emmy. Or you know, get cancelled after a week. One of the two."

"You're an odd bird sometimes, you know that right?"

"Hey, we're holding hands."

"Just noticing that now, huh pet?"

"No, it's just - I don't really remember us _just_ holding hands before. At least, not when we weren't under a spell, or freshly resurrected. It's…nice. We've never really done this before; it's kinda like a first. Only the good kind of first, not the kind that walks around plotting the end of the world while wearing a cheap, knockoff Buffy suit."

"Accept no substitutes."

"But you did."

"Did what, pet?"

"Accept a substitute."

"Got me there. Right wanker I was for having that thing put together. But, at least she came in handy on a few occasions."

"Ewww, Spike! Why would you bring up th-" His laughter cut her off mid-rant, and she felt a blush creeping into her cheeks. "Oh, you meant – "

"Yeah. I meant…"

"With Glory, and Dawn's PTA and…"

"Yeah, with that. Good to know that your mind never totally leaves the gutter though. Makes me remember why I love you so damn much."

Silence echoed after his words, while the two of them both just stood there, the light-hearted mood turning heavy. Spike opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a pink-tipped finger pressing against his lips. _When the bloody hell does she find the time to do her nails?_

"You know, the hand holdage got me thinking. Maybe…maybe we could make this a night for firsts. Seems only fitting seeing what we're fighting tomorrow and all; or possibly very twisted. But I figure, Hellmouth and all…"

Spike's voice was barely above a whisper as he answered her, not sure if it was all real yet, not certain she wouldn't vanish and he'd be back in the school basement alone and frightened again. "I'd like that."

The smile she gave him melted away his fears, and when her other hand came to rest on his cheek; he couldn't help but nuzzle into the warmth and comfort she offered.

She stepped closer, into his personal space, and thought that her heart might burst from her chest. _God_, he was so overwhelming. The scent of him filled her up till it was hard to tell if anything else even existed. He was the only thing that seemed real to her. She felt his left hand alight on her hip. The touch so cautious and tentative, it made her ache.

Neither one of them made the first move, they just somehow managed to meet in the middle, on tender ground that was just beginning to make sense to both of them. Somewhere they could feel safe, a placed they both recognized as home.

When their lips finally met, they had no choice but to grasp hold of each other, so in danger of being swept over by the emotions it fueled.

This, this was what had been missing for them; fire and intensity, warmth and compassion. Buffy knew she could face anything the First could throw at her, now that she'd had this. Spike had been right. It was a bloody revelation…

Spike knew he would probably die in the morning and although she might never say the words, they were whispered on ever breath she took from between his lips. As her supple body melted into his, the softness of her suffusing his body with the sweetest of pleasures, he knew that for just this one moment, it was enough.

It was all they needed.

* * *

"Since the invention of the kiss there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure.

This one left them all behind."

Grandpa, from _The__ Princess Bride_

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**The End.**


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